by Scott, Amber
"You’ve lost the right to call me brother, Lyric. And you'll have to forgive me if I won’t forget.” Elijah took a steadying breath, his wings shivered. “Crusoe is what matters now. Not you. Not me."
"Fine by me.” Lyric smacked his lips. “So then, what led you here? The heat?"
"Something Crusoe said." Something Elijah wouldn't be sharing. We all must die, Elijah. But some of us will be reborn from the ashes. Not exactly a common statement among immortals well versed in realm lines. Crusoe had meant something else. Being linked with an invisible faction who loathed mortals and sought to collapse their realm made those words all the more cryptic. What were you telling me, Crusoe?
"Did he specifically speak of the Book of Sorrows?" Lyric asked.
"No. But if we find the Book before they do, we will find the Illeautians and thereby Crusoe." Out loud, it sounded naïve. Fantastical.
Lyric nodded soberly, though. “And if he’s joined them rather than been killed or held by them?”
Elijah's stomach cinched tighter. Lyric's reaction mattered more than he'd let himself believe. “I can’t believe he’d join them. He has no reason to hate humankind.”
Plenty questioned if the Book even existed beyond myth, despite it being the foundation of all immortal code. Crusoe never had, though. Neither did the Illeautians. They’d gone to great lengths to try to find the Book, to prove its existence. No wonder since their entire society’s value system stemmed from the Book.
“Find the Book, understand why they want it…I get it,” Lyric said. “But you’re thinking like a seeker, Elijah. You’re hunting.” His hand stroked his nearly black goatee and Lyric strode to the rooftop’s edge. “What if we approach it in reverse?”
“From the outside in, you mean?” Elijah said. Interested, he bit. “How?”
"What you need is a messenger," Lyric called past his shoulder, keeping his back to them. The sun was setting, creating a silhouette of billowing duster and hair.
Holly’s vibration changed at the mention of a messenger. Either Lyric had just validated her plan for Sadie or they’d plotted this conversation to a tee.
"A messenger could help locate Crusoe,” Lyric said, breaking the silence. “Rather than seek, a messenger would find. The Book of Sorrows too, I suspect."
Not a single blur of an airship’s cloak marred the cloudless expanse of desert sky. The Renegade, Orena’s modified airship, was likely long gone and his former flame with it. Holly kept her arms crossed and her gaze on Elijah. The sense of danger in his gut abated a degree.
“Messengers aren’t exactly easy to come by,” he said, testing Lyric. Virtually all messengers, a rare immortal breed, were ensconced in High Council, who they didn’t want involved, particularly if Holly was right about Sadie. More than realm lines, strict laws separated mortals from immortals and for a multitude of reasons.
"Feeling like flirting with enforcement?" he directed at Lyric, another test.
Holly rolled her eyes but didn’t speak. Good. A messenger’s unique ability to act as medium between realms, to read objects, sense the past, could mean finding Crusoe .
If Lyric thought of the idea separate from Holly, Elijah would mark it as more evidence that Holly could be right, if not about Sadie, about the idea itself.
“What if we had one?” Holly asked quietly, anticipation ringing in her smoky voice.
Elijah waited, watching for a sincere reaction, feeling for it. Lyric blocked him well, though, as always.
“First, I’d be shocked.” Lyric came away from the building’s edge. “Next, I’d ask how you got to one and lived to tell about it.” Lyric turned away, his hair spreading and whipping in the wind like a cloak. “Next, I’d be stunned if you bent a rule far enough to get to one.”
“Are you saying I wouldn’t risk bending a rule for Crusoe? I’ve been pursuing the Book these last months. I'm sure I don't have to spell out those risks."
High Council held that the Book itself had been lost—destroyed in the separation of realms. And searching for it was forbidden. Realm lines stood in place for a reason. Mortals and immortals could not co-exist. Both kinds learned as much thousands of years ago.
Lyric laughed. “Not at all. I know how much you can take. Besides, have you ever known me to quibble over a gray area? I didn’t think you’d take me seriously, but if we can get a messenger’s help, all the easier to get Crusoe back. What are you thinking? Bribery? Blackmail?”
Holly's anticipation pulsed higher. She stepped closer to Elijah. Her bronze skin glowed in the diffusing light. He noted that regret rang in her vibration as well. Over what?
"As far as I can see, if you haven't located the Book by now, you won't,” Lyric continued, his tone growing sober. “I don’t mean that as insult. I doubt anyone ever will, the Illeautians included. How many centuries have they been bent on the very thing?”
"Instead of searching for the Book, we need to focus on finding the Illeautians and thereby Crusoe. Somehow."
“Exactly,” Lyric said. “Rather than deal with supposition and myth, get facts. A messenger can get us facts. Names of members."
Elijah ground his teeth. Locating the Book had been a long shot. Having it spelled out still rankled. Sadie could be the answer. That left only whether she should be. Who were they to interfere? Who were they to assume? Elijah strode to the ledge where Lyric had stood and crouched there. The breeze cooled his forehead, pushing back the stink of oily concrete from below. What he wouldn't give to apport into another place, to leave the whole issue behind. To find time and space to think. He was running out of time. He felt it.
Bitterly or not, he had to face that Holly and Lyric were right. A messenger, someone to find Crusoe. Maybe even locate the Book, decipher the past, perceive possible futures, expose the Illeautians and all their secret members for the human haters they were.
If Sadie could transform…. Lyric's hum grew in beats. Anticipation, like Holly’s. Why? Elijah waited. Crusoe's last words echoed through his mind once again. Elijah should have recognized the despair in his brother's soul. He’d felt too betrayed and resentment had blinded him.
“There are stories,” Holly said, speaking each word with care. “But have you ever witnessed or known of a mortal who transcended realms?”
“What? A human?” Lyric snorted. “You’re not serious?”
Elijah didn't turn around. ”She isn’t stable enough.”
Lyric didn't seem to hear him. "You found a human messenger?"
Did Lyric not know? Hadn’t Holly already told him as much and this was simply part of the trust game? The knot in Elijah’s guts tightened. Rather than face Lyric and Holly, his legs were rooted to the ledge.
“I believe I’ve found a mortal who can become an immortal, a messenger changeling,” Holly said.
Sadie. Her bereft brown eyes, the longing in her every move. Her mind, pressing against reality, so close to the next realm, yet altogether too human. Wouldn’t he sense some otherness about her?
“We aren’t certain,” Holly said. “Elijah thinks I’m wrong.”
“A changeling. Huh.”
"No." Elijah hardly heard his own voice. Speaking unstuck his limbs, though. He stood and faced them. Lyric, for once, looked deadpan. "Sadie is not an option."
Holly's gaze pinned him. "I suppose we're out of options then. I guess we’re supposed to walk away, to let Crusoe die or worse, live in torture?"
"She is not an option. I won't risk her life to satisfy our guilt."
Lyric interrupted. "Who is she? Where is she?"
Elijah shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We’ll find another way, I’ll think of something else.” He looked at Lyric "Holly thought together we could force her transformation. I tried to read her. I can’t. We can’t be sure she is strong enough.”
“If you’re very careful, and I help, could you read her?” Holly asked Lyric.
“It’s a bad idea,” Elijah said.
Lyric frowned. "What made you conside
r forcing a transformation to begin with? How could we do it?" Amazingly, he neither smiled nor hummed with glee, and both gave Elijah pause.
“I think she exists between realms,” Holly rushed on.
“It’s not possible,” Lyric said. “There’s human and there’s us. The occasional half-breed thrown in like Orena, who is barely tolerated. Is she half-bred? No? Then aside from a quantum leap, from instantaneous evolution, it’s unheard of.”
“If you met her, Lyric, you wouldn’t think so,” Holly insisted. “I can’t explain it. She’s different.”
“She could die from it. Mortals aren’t built for that kind of shift.”
“No. I don’t think so.” Holly’s aura burned bright. “She’s already changing. She’s stronger than you think.”
“Some sort of mutation?” Lyric posed. “Why do you think she’ll be a messenger?”
“Because of what I get from her energy. I can’t explain it. I’ve never known a messenger so I’m guessing here, but if you got a good read….”
“It’s exploitative,” Elijah said, feeling foolish, childish for considering any of the myths as truth. “It’s making a decision that isn’t ours to make. Say what you want about rules but realm lines exist for a reason. Besides, we don’t know how to force it.”
"Would we need to?" Lyric asked Holly.
“I don’t know yet.”
"Exactly. We don’t know," Elijah said. “For a reason. Because it can’t happen.” Or shouldn’t.
"You’re wrong. Between the three of us, we can manage it.” She chopped her palm with her hand, emphasizing each point. “Elijah, you can sense her frequency, you can help push the transformation. Lyric can feed her what she needs to know. He can extract the stress. Don’t forget our resident healer. Astrid could help, too. I can read Sadie’s energy and…I don’t know, protect her.” She threw her hands up. “Something. It’s worth trying, Elijah. Crusoe is worth it."
Elijah’s chest ached hearing his brother’s name.
“Sometimes, I think if I hadn’t left....” Lyric stared toward the darkening horizon. “This is big. Is it bigger than us?”
Would they have wanted this were they in Crusoe’s shoes? Would he? “We can’t know the consequences. It’s never been done before.”
“Never? As far as we know. How much do we really ever know? I don’t care. I’m in,” Lyric said.
"She’ll need you, too, Elijah," Holly implored quietly, her gaze penetrating his.
Elijah couldn’t help but recall crystal blue depths staring back at him. What would they be risking if they attempted such a thing?
"Look, if, as you say, the girl isn't an option, Elijah, what harm will reading her be?"
Because Lyric would see Holly was right. That was his fear.
Would tampering with realm lines send Enforcers after them? Would they harm Sadie or help her? Could it even work? Time closed in on him--on Crusoe's life.
"Promise me one thing." He must be insane. However, Lyric nodded solemnly and the noose around their options closed. "Leave her be until I decide."
Holly's shoulders sagged a notch. Relief hushed from her every pore. As far as Elijah was concerned, she should feel the opposite.
Even if they changed Sadie, what would become of her? What would her life be like after, not born to the second realm, but no longer part of her own? He thought of Orena, of how much she suffered because of the stigma of her birth. How was this different?
"Swear to me you’ll wait," he said and faced the building’s ledge. He didn't wait for a reply. The last sliver of sunlight vanished under the horizon as Elijah spread his wings and stepped off the rooftop.
~ ~ ~
Chapter Three
Sadie’s sandal thunking the waiting room chair filled the silence like a broken wind chime. Heather, her sister and “advocate,” glanced up from the Redbook and poked Sadie. “Stop squirming.”
Feeling all of twelve instead of twenty-two, Sadie planted her feet on the thin carpet. The stillness in her body sent her mind into activity. The cart catastrophe with Elijah replayed in her mind a millionth time. Her face flashed hot. What a disastrous first impression. She had to get a second chance somehow. But if he never came back like Ben said…. damn it.
Sadie gave into her foot’s urge to wiggle just the tiniest bit. She’d have to die of embarrassment later. Time to focus on appearing functional. She had to give good, long answers. And keep her mouth shut about the dreams. Especially about the dreams.
If only their mother’s death hadn’t upturned her world so drastically. She’d never have had to go through all this therapy crap.
“Sadie, please?” Heather gritted out.
Sadie stilled her foot. Who cared if she fidgeted? The vacant-eyed receptionist sure wouldn’t. Besides, Sadie couldn’t help it. She had about as much talent for waiting as for keeping secrets.
Two years ago, Heather would have been the first person to know all about Elijah. The crush, today’s wreck, even the dreams. Sadie missed that. “I hate this,” she mumbled.
“Hmm?” Heather said.
Much as she would like to face Dr. Meyers alone, she couldn’t leave Heather out of the sessions. They’d made a deal. Heather got to sit in, Sadie got to move out. “Nothing.”
Not showing up at all, and the thought crossed her mind every single day, would worsen matters. Matters had gotten good. Sadie was making progress. She had her job. Better yet, she actually liked her job and felt somewhat respectable doing it. The minor detail that Jen got her the job no longer bothered her. Neither did not getting paid for it. After all, their mom’s surprise trust fund took care of the bills.
“I have to drop something off for Remy so I can give you a ride home,” Heather said, flipping another glossy page.
“Um, no thanks.”
“Don’t tell me you’d rather ride the bus.”
Sadie shrugged.
“Don’t be silly. In this heat?”
“It’s only eighty-eight today.”
“I swear, if it were anyone else offering, you’d say yes.”
“That’s not true.” Sadie loved her sister and disliked confrontation, but the bus ride home shed the ick dissecting her life troweled upon her. She would fight for it. “I like taking the bus.”
“That’s bizarre, Sadie.” Heather tossed the magazine aside. “And I don’t believe you.”
Sadie glared at Heather who was scowling into space instead of at the magazine. Some bangs would do wonders to hide all those forehead wrinkles. Twenty-one going on forty.
Sadie crossed her ankles around each chair leg and fingered a lock of hair forward. Winding the length again and again into a coil, she asked, “How’s Remy?” She liked her brother-in-law, Remy. He kept Heather’s smothering in check.
“Fine,” Heather said, eyeballing her watch.
The receptionist’s phone beeped. Sadie’s stomach clutched. It was time.
Taking a breath, she rose. Focus on work. On getting more shifts. Ask about lowering her dosages again, omitting the fact that she already had. Nothing about Elijah or secret messages. Or any of the canvases three paintings deep in the garage, to be safe, because that would scare Heather and might then lead to who she’d been painting. Sadie’s heart palpitated just thinking of losing her job, her room at Jen’s, her garage studio.
Her normal.
She was normal again. A fleck of ultramarine paint under her forefinger nail snagged her attention. Crap. The disaster with Elijah had made her forget to scrub them again.
Had Heather noticed?
“Good afternoon, ladies.” A fish tank bubbled quietly from the right. A brass and rock fountain gurgled to the left. Dr. Meyers, center, settled her slender fingers onto the pad on her lap. Her elegant eyebrows rose with her smile, as always.
Sadie took her usual position on the sofa. Heather took the chair. The scented plug-in job had been refilled. Clean linen? Dr. Meyers remained silent. Heather followed suit. Sadie deplored these silen
ces most. They gonged at her brain. Who would talk first? She would. She always caved first. And Dr. Meyers would lull her and charm the secrets from Sadie’s lips, no matter how hard she pressed them together.
She stared at the fountain, blocking out memories of ultramarine eyes and gossamer wings. His mouth grazing her neck, her pulse beating so hard, two gauzy blue wings creating a canopy over their naked entwined bodies—no! Back to reality. She ignored the shiver in her belly threatening to travel too far below. Reality was the water, the fountain, Heather’s impatient foot. At least Elijah hadn’t had wings in real life.
She’d come in half expecting him to. They’d been that real.
“Sadie?”
She sat up straighter. “Yes?”
“You painted today?” Dr. Meyers asked.
“Painted?” Sadie hid her nails. A sane, functional person did not go about unkempt, unwashed, or with gobs of oil paint under her fingernails, artist or not.
Dr. Meyers gestured a finger down her cheek. Automatically, Sadie followed suit. A rough and flaky texture met her fingertips. “Oh, that.”
“Oh, that, Sadie?” Heather said. “You’re painting again and you know we have reason to be concerned over it. Acting like it’s nothing will not take away the truth of the matter—“
Dr. Meyers held up a quieting hand. “Yes, Sadie. That.” She smiled patiently. “It’s blue.”
The light over the tank glared like a spotlight, too close, exposing her. Sadie scooted over a little. “I’m not manic.”
Heather shook her head, rolling her eyes.
“I’m not. I painted a little before work.” The wings had given her trouble. She couldn’t get the sheer gauzy texture right. The impossibly thinned paint simply failed to capture his wings’ wispy feel. So light and thin, yet a solid shield. “Not obsessively at all.”
Sadie would not be perceived as some crazy, eccentric artist. No severed ears, so help her. “Totally normal painting.”
“Alright.” Dr. Meyers’ eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “How’ve you been sleeping?”